


a restless soul, a wicked mind

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire is a musician and Combeferre is the worst barkeeper the world has ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire was nervous, even though this wasn’t a big deal, even though there wouldn’t be a lot of people gathered in the small pub. He’d already done this a billion times before, still there was a thrill to it, to people watching him, listening to him.

He parked his car around the corner from the Musain. He’d learnt the hard way that parking your car in front of a pub was a horrible idea. Grantaire walked inside, his guitar in hand, found Enjolras and Marius arguing in one corner, Courfeyrac and Jehan being disgustingly sweet in the other, Combeferre behind the bar, together with Bahorel, who was apparently explaining something to him, Feuilly wiping tables, greeting Grantaire happily as he entered.

Bahorel nodded at him briefly as he walked by, Combeferre smiled at him, everyone else didn’t pay much attention to him. He’d known them all for a while, he’d met most of them when they’d just started university, a couple of months after he’d dropped out of art school, and they’d adopted him, in a way.

Most of them came over on the nights he played and he wasn’t sure if it was pity or actual interest, he’d told Feuilly it was more than okay if he didn’t want Grantaire to play gigs at his pub anymore, at which Bahorel had whacked him on the back of his head and told him to shut up and Feuilly had assured him that there were more people there when he played than on any other given night, so Grantaire had eventually relented.

He set his guitar down next to the small stage in the back, built by Feuilly himself for Grantaire’s first show. The stage had stayed and so had Grantaire.

Someone had already set up most of his equipment, which was usually stored in the backroom, so all that was left for him to do was to tune his guitar and test the microphone, Courfeyrac cheering him on, although he was only babbling nonsense. If he was that excited already, Grantaire was pretty sure he’d end up on the stage with him at some point, asking him to play ABBA songs.

When he was done he still had about fifteen minutes until the Musain opened, then another thirty until he’d start playing. Grantaire made his way to the bar, where Combeferre was on his own now. Grantaire didn’t know him all that well, he was a medicine student, didn’t actually need a job and was therefore helping out Feuilly for free whenever his help was required, which was pretty often as far as Grantaire could tell.

Combeferre set a glass of water on the counter in front of him, as always, and smiled at Grantaire as he did so.  And although he didn’t know Combeferre as well as he knew some of the others, this was something Combeferre understood without questions asked.  Grantaire had never explicitly stated that he wasn’t drinking, not anymore, but he must have noticed early on that he never drank.

So when Grantaire had once come into the Musain in the middle of the night, feeling like his skin was on fire, all sane thoughts out of reach, having a drink the only thing on his mind, he’d encountered Combeferre on one of his first nights behind the bar.

He often thought about that particular night, wondering why he’d come here of all places. He could have gone anywhere, someplace where no one would have tried to stop him. Maybe he’d secretly been hoping that someone would, that they’d tell him to go home, to go to bed, to stop.

Combeferre had looked at him worriedly as he’d settled on a barstool and asked for a whiskey. “Are you sure?” he’d asked.

“Do I look unsure to you?” His hands had been trembling, so he’d gripped the edge of the counter, yes, maybe he’d looked unsure.

Combeferre hadn’t said a word to that, had simply handed him a glass of water. “Think about it for another minute or two and let me know if you still want that whiskey then.”

“You’re a really shitty barkeeper.” He still was, but everyone loved him, which was why Feuilly kept asking him to help out.

“I really can’t argue with that,” Combeferre had said.

Grantaire had glared at him at first, had considered going somewhere else, but then Combeferre had started talking, had told him about his shift, about all the stories people had already told him, one crazier than the other. “The duty of a good barkeeper,” Grantaire had told him. “Listening to people’s life stories will get you the most generous tips.

Half an hour later he’d still been gripping the counter with one hand, his glass of water had been half-empty, his thoughts in order once again. Grantaire hadn’t finished his water and had gone home. That had been the last time he’d nearly slipped.

They’d never talked about it and Grantaire had never properly thanked Combeferre for what he’d done, he probably never would, he wouldn’t find the right words, not even if he tried, so he was hoping that Combeferre knew how grateful he’d been and still was.

Combeferre yawned and watched as Marius ran past them, leaving a disgruntled Enjolras in his wake. “Rough day?” Grantaire asked, glancing at the shadows under Combeferre’s eyes.

“A little rough, yeah.” He looked like he was about to elaborate, but got distracted by Enjolras, with whom he seemed to have some kind of telepathic conversation across the room. They did that a lot.

They’d known each other for ages, Enjolras had told him. That had been back in the day when Grantaire had spent every waking minute pining after Enjolras and had ended up arguing with him every time he’d opened his mouth in his presence. They’d only had two or three normal conversations where neither of them had ended up snapping at the other, and during one of them Enjolras had let that particular fact slip.

Grantaire watched them, somewhat fascinated, and, for some reason, a little disgruntled. In the end Combeferre only shrugged and turned back to Grantaire, who briefly nodded at Enjolras, who swished past them, still looking positively pissed off.

Combeferre shook his head and moved to push up his glasses, which he wasn’t even wearing today, blushing faintly when he realised that Grantaire watched him with an amused expression. “It’s a habit,” he said, a smile curling around his lips.

Grantaire hummed. He wasn’t a stranger to habits.

Combeferre was soon caught up doing his actual job when Feuilly opened the bar, some people even came up to Grantaire, telling him they couldn’t wait for him to play, which hardly helped with his nervousness. It was hard for him to grasp that people were here because of _him_ , which had him eyeing the bottles behind Combeferre with a little too much interest.

Combeferre squeezed his forearm as he walked past and Grantaire smiled at him, hoping it was reassuring enough, that Combeferre would understand that he’d just been looking, not actually considering. Grantaire wasn’t even sure why Combeferre cared, it was probably just that he cared about everyone.

Grantaire somehow made it through 22 songs without any major mistakes, played an encore for which Courfeyrac joined him on the small stage, cheered on by every single person in the small pub, bowing excessively at the end of it, giving Grantaire a chance to make a quick escape.

He slid into a chair next to Jehan, where he remained for the rest of the evening, very much relieved and in a much better mood than before.

As always, he stuck around until Bahorel and Feuilly closed the pub, helped them clean up, thanked Feuilly when he handed him a couple of bills, knowing that refusing payment would only make Feuilly angry, something he’d learnt to avoid by now.

When he was sure that Bahorel and Feuilly were busy putting chairs on tables and not paying attention to him, he stuffed all of it into the various tip jars at the end of the bar, completely oblivious to the fact that Combeferre was watching him, until he looked up to say goodbye to everyone.

“See you guys around,” he called before Combeferre could say anything and was out the door, clutching his guitar case, cursing himself for his stupidity.

Grantaire heard footsteps behind him even before he’d reached his car. He turned around to find Combeferre walking towards him. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, why would he be, Grantaire had frozen in place and was watching him approach.

“If Feuilly knew what you’re doing, he’d probably tear your head off, you know that, right?” Combeferre said when he’d come to a halt next to Grantaire.

“I am aware,” Grantaire answered. “Don’t tell him,” he added.

Combeferre frowned. “Why won’t you take his money?”

“Because I have a job, I don’t want his money and I’ve told him that, I don’t really need it, but you guys do.” Combeferre looked like he was about to object and Grantaire really wasn’t in the mood for arguing for once, he just wanted to go home. He sighed. “Can we just forget about this?”

“We can do that, I suppose,” Combeferre said, nodding. “But keep the money next time. You deserve it.”

“I just played a few songs, it’s nothing special.” Grantaire shrugged and started walking towards his car. He wasn’t even surprised when Combeferre followed him.

“People come to the pub to hear you play, don’t say it’s nothing special.”

“If you say so,” Grantaire muttered defensively.

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” Combeferre only said and swiftly walked back to the Musain.

Grantaire would think about this night months later, thinking that this was probably when it all started.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire wasn’t particularly happy that one of his students had cancelled his lesson last minute, especially because they’d done it on such short notice that he couldn’t move up the last lesson of the day, so he was left with an hour to kill.

Once again, Grantaire was glad that he’d had the chance to rent the flat above his studio, because now he could at least go upstairs and grab something to eat or maybe watch a show. He didn’t even have any paperwork to take care of, which was a bit of rarity, since he wasn’t the biggest fan of paperwork, so it usually took him ages to get done.

He was halfway through the latest episode of Breaking Bad when his phone rang. He glanced at the name on the display for a second, mildly confused. “Combeferre?”

“Hello, Grantaire,” came Combeferre’s voice from the other end of the line. He sounded stressed. That was unusual.

When that was all that Combeferre seemed to have to say, Grantaire cleared his throat. “What... is everything okay?”

“Could you do me a favour?” Combeferre sounded almost timid.

“What kind of favour are we talking about?” Grantaire asked, already knowing he’d say yes, because this was Combeferre. Combeferre never asked for help and if he did there was no way anyone would ever say no to him. Grantaire just wasn’t sure why he’d called _him_ to ask for help.

“Enjolras and Courfeyrac are having a... discussion at our flat, and I’d go to the library, I really would, but I have so many books and I don’t want to drag them all on the bus with me and your place is just around the corner, do you think I could hide out there for a couple of hours?”

Combeferre wanted to come _here_? “Sure, I mean, I have someone coming over for a lesson in about half an hour, but it’s not like you need adult supervision, right?”

He heard Combeferre snort. “Thanks, Grantaire, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Combeferre sure hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he had a lot of books. In fact, he had a backpack full of them and in addition to that he was carrying a massive binder, which Grantaire took from him when he opened the door. Combeferre kept thanking him all the way up the stairs.

“It’s no big deal, make yourself at home,” Grantaire said and dropped Combeferre’s binder on the sofa. “The kitchen’s over there if you want anything to drink or to eat, my fridge is your fridge and all that, I have to get back downstairs, but you can tell me all about that epic battle that is going on at your flat when I’m done.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre said and started unpacking his books. “I will.”

Grantaire ran back downstairs for the last piano lesson of the day, strangely distracted by the fact that Combeferre was in his flat. The minutes crawled by, and while he listened to little Marie play Christmas songs, his thoughts kept wandering, and he wondered what Combeferre was studying and if he’d got himself some coffee or tea. Probably tea.

He smiled at the thought of Combeferre sifting through his tea collection, it was like an anti-alcoholic liquor cabinet, in a way. Most of the teas had been a gift from Jehan, others he’d got from Joly, there were only a few he’d bought himself.

Grantaire snuck back upstairs after the lesson and found Combeferre on his sofa, legs folded, one book in his lap, two to his left, one to his right, three on the table in front of him on top of his binder. His glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose, his hair looked oddly dishevelled, and he looked like he was completely lost in whatever he was reading.

“You can sit down, you know?” Combeferre said and looked up at him with a smile. “Oh,” he muttered, looking around himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take up so much space.” He took the book to his right and placed it on the pile on the table. “There you go.”

Grantaire sat down next to him, thinking maybe it was time to get a bigger sofa or at least an armchair. “God, I’m so glad I dropped out of school,” Grantaire muttered with a glance at one of Combeferre’s textbooks. It looked like a never-ending list of complicated illnesses.

Combeferre laughed, which sent his glasses flying off his nose. He huffed and put them back on. “It seems like that worked out just fine for you,” he said, sounding perfectly sincere.

“Yeah, I mean I have to deal with spoilt brats all day, but I do make a decent income, my parents would be so proud.” He hadn’t talked to his parents since he’d decided to leave art school, since they’d refused to help, since he’d spent the last of his money on going to rehab. “Anyway,” he continued, because he really wasn’t in the mood to talk about his parents right now, “are you staying for dinner?”

“If you don’t mind,” Combeferre said reluctantly, “but I don’t want to cause you any trouble, I’m probably enough of a nuisance already.”

“Don’t worry about it, really.” He awkwardly patted Combeferre on the shoulder as he stood up. “Stay.”

When he returned with two bowls of pasta, he found Combeferre in the exact same position he’d left him in. “Okay, you know what, I think it’s time for you to stop. Have you even moved since I left?”

Combeferre glanced at him with a don’t-be-ridiculous look he seemed to have adopted from Enjolras, but did close the book in his lap. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Grantaire sat down and handed him one of the bowls. “Now,” he said, “how do you feel about Breaking Bad?”

Quite frankly, it was pretty hard to tell how Combeferre felt about Breaking Bad. He seemed interested enough, didn’t even glance at his books, and Grantaire was starting to think that Combeferre probably did everything like this, not matter if it was studying or watching TV, he was always completely focused and not distracted by anything.

It was admirable, really, because Grantaire lived his life in a constant state of distraction, and he was tempted to ask Combeferre how he did it.

Anyway, Grantaire still wasn’t sure if Combeferre enjoyed himself or if he sat through it because he was too polite to say he didn’t like it. He didn’t even realise he was staring at Combeferre until he turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, a smile playing around his lips.

Grantaire opened his mouth to utter something like an explanation that wouldn’t explain anything and probably make the whole situation even more awkward, so he only shook his head and tried to look back at the TV.

It didn’t take too long until his eyes started wandering again. Luckily, Combeferre didn’t catch him again.

Or at least that was what the thought.

“Do you want to watch another one?” Grantaire asked when they’d finished the first episode.

“Actually, I should probably head home.” Combeferre sat up and started collecting his books. “I’ve already imposed on you for way too long.”

“No, no, I don’t mind,” Grantaire said quickly. “I mean, you’re not bothering me or anything, like, you can stay if you want to, but yeah, I guess if you have to get going, you can do that.” He took a deep breath. He was babbling, why the hell was he babbling, this was just Combeferre.

“Right,” Combeferre said, looking amused rather than confused, “Well, I really need to go, but I suppose we can watch the next episode some other time.”

“Sure, yeah, whenever you want,” Grantaire muttered and picked up the dirty dishes from the table and carried them to the kitchen.

“Do you need help with that before I leave?” Combeferre asked, pointing at the dishes.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Grantaire called.

Combeferre followed him, his backpack slung over his shoulder and his binder in hand. “Thanks a lot, for the food and everything else, I really appreciate your help.”

“Anytime, it’s a pleasure to offer people shelter from Enjolras.”

Combeferre grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You should,” Grantaire said, nodding.

“Well,” Combeferre muttered, “I’ll see you around.”

And maybe it was a coincidence, but from that day on he kept running into Combeferre a lot more frequently than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (dear 11 subscribers, I love every single one of you) (and everyone else who reads this)


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire let out a deep breath as he looked at all the people waiting for the bus with him. Maybe he should have taken his car after all, although finding a place to park would have been a fucking pain, so a crowded bus full of sneezing and wheezing strangers might still be the better alternative.

He wasn’t even sure where he was going yet. What he knew was that he’d spent five long minutes in the liquor aisle, pondering. He did that sometimes, not that he was proud of it, but he always considered it a success when he made it out of the shop without having bought anything.

There was an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in about two hours which he could go to, which he probably should go to. He hadn’t been to one in months.

He’d tried to go a couple of times but had always ended up wandering around the city instead. It would probably be the same today. Maybe he’d waste a couple of hours in his favourite music shop. Maybe he’d buy a book for Jehan. Maybe he’d get a new tattoo.

The bus was as packed as he’d expected, an old lady coughed into his ear as soon as he stepped on it and on top of it all he felt like he was going to have a heatstroke. City buses were probably gates to hell in disguise.

He’d almost convinced himself that it’d be a good idea to get off at the next stop and walk back home, when he spotted a familiar face at the back of the bus.

Ten _excuse me_ s later he’d reached Combeferre and poked him in the ribs, people around them shooting them death glares.

“Grantaire, I wouldn’t have expected to see you here,” Combeferre said, smiling down at him happily.

Grantaire grinned and tugged at Combeferre’s extremely colourful scarf. “This is nice, did Jehan make it for you?” Grantaire actually had one himself, but it was a bit too much of a colour explosion for his taste, so he only wore the beanie Jehan had made for him.

“Yes, he did,” Combeferre confirmed, eyes flickering to Grantaire’s beanie.

“Where are you headed?” Grantaire asked, trying not to wince when someone elbowed him in the back as they wrestled their way past him and Combeferre to get to the doors.

 “I was just taking a break from studying, but I didn’t think of the hoards of Christmas shoppers that are on the loose.”

“Let me guess, you’ve already done your Christmas shopping,” Grantaire said. He could imagine Combeferre writing lists and working out the prefect present for each of his friends just perfectly.

“I have,” Combeferre confirmed with a smile. “So, where are you going?”

“I was just...,” Grantaire stared out the window, trying to figure out what to say and also where exactly they were, because if he didn’t pay attention he’d end up at the other end of town. “Contemplating,” he finished lamely.

“Contemplating what?” Combeferre inquired. “Getting Christmas presents early for once?”

Grantaire chuckled. “No, that’s never going to happen.” He looked up at Combeferre, considering how much he’d judge him if he told him the truth. “Actually, I was thinking about going to a meeting.” He had no doubt that Combeferre would know what kind of meeting. He wasn’t even sure if he still wanted to go anymore, maybe he should do something else entirely.

Of all the things Grantaire had expected Combeferre to say, what followed definitely wasn’t anywhere close to what he’d thought. “I could go with you,” Combeferre offered. “I mean, just in case you want company or anything,” he added.

All Grantaire could do was gape at him. “I’m... well, I mean... thank you, but I think maybe we should do something else?”

“Like what?”

“I have an idea,” Grantaire said and pulled Combeferre off the bus a few stops later.

“This is a horrible idea,” Combeferre whispered, eyes wide in horror.

“Come on, you said you wouldn’t mind keeping me company,” Grantaire said and pretended to pout until Combeferre relented.

“I’ll break my neck and it’ll be your fault,” Combeferre complained, but let Grantaire drag him towards the ice rink by his scarf.

Grantaire had come here a lot with Jehan the year before, sometimes even with him and Courfeyrac, since the two of them really didn’t mind company and also had no problem saying when they’d rather be on their own. He’d never had to teach anyone how to ice skate, though, which seemed to be the task at hand now.

“What do you mean you’ve never done this?” Grantaire asked in disbelief, when Combeferre told him he’d never set foot on an ice rink before.

“I just didn’t think I’d enjoy it much,” Combeferre said, frowning when a little boy fell flat on his nose right in front of them, a worried mother right behind him to pick him up.

“Oh, you will,” Grantaire assured him and went to get them skates, suddenly feeling strangely cheerful. Combeferre followed at his heels, but still didn’t look too convinced.

It didn’t start too well for them, at first they nearly skated into a group of children, lingering in the middle of the rink, then Combeferre did fall on his ass, as he’d predicted, just a little more eloquently put, and when Grantaire tried to come to his rescue, he landed right on top of him, knocking his glasses off with one swift motion.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Grantaire mumbled, picked up the glasses and put them back on Combeferre’s nose, nearly poking him in the eye in the process. “Maybe I should stop helping you.”

Combeferre laughed and readjusted his glasses. “Just remind me not to wear my glasses next time.”

“Next time?” Grantaire asked as he pulled Combeferre back on his feet.

“It was quite fun until you tried to blind me with my own glasses,” Combeferre mused.

“Sorry,” Grantaire said again. “Come on, let’s go a few more rounds, then I’ll buy you a hot chocolate or something.”

“Why can’t we get hot chocolate right now?” Combeferre asked, watching Grantaire skate away from him with a miserable expression.

Grantaire looked back at him and held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll pull you.”

He’d done that before with Jehan, but he hadn’t taken into account that Combeferre was considerably taller and therefore heavier than the little woodland fairy that Jehan was. They made it about halfway around the rink until they were a bundle of limbs on the ice again.

“Are you okay?” Combeferre asked, laughing into Grantaire’s coat.

“I think I dislocated my kneecap,” he answered when Combeferre started untangling himself from Grantaire. “At least you’re a doctor, you can put me back together.”

“I’m not a doctor yet,” Combeferre corrected him, “and anyway, you’re still smiling too much to have any serious injuries.”

Grantaire scrambled back to his feet, ignoring how wet his jeans already were from falling on the ice, and tugged at Combeferre’s sleeve. “Hot chocolate?”

“Good idea.” Combeferre seemed quite happy to get off the ice, even though he still claimed that it wasn’t too bad, and only protested twice when Grantaire paid for his hot chocolate.

On their way home they even managed to get seats on the bus and Grantaire listened in on Combeferre’s phone call to Enjolras, who’d apparently been calling him for hours, wondering where the hell he was, since Combeferre had told him he just wanted to take a quick break.

Grantaire was still giggling long after Combeferre had hung up. “It’s really sweet actually,” he said after a while.

“Yeah, he has his moments,” Combeferre muttered, and Grantaire burst out laughing again, because he knew how awkward Enjolras could get when he tried to be nice to people.

Grantaire shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His jeans still hadn’t fully dried. “Well, the next stop is mine.”

“I think I’ll get off here and walk the rest of the way,” Combeferre said and followed him out of the bus. “We should really go again sometime,” he suggested quietly as if he was scared that Grantaire might not want to.

“Yeah, we should,” Grantaire agreed, “and maybe next time we should try not to kill each other.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

They walked in silence until Grantaire noticed he’d almost walked past his flat. He stopped dead in the middle of the pavement. “I live here.” It sounded like he’d just now realised. Which was true, in a way.

“Right,” Combeferre said. “Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get to go to your meeting.”

Grantaire shrugged. He’d almost forgotten about his earlier plans. “Doesn’t matter, I never go.”

“Shouldn’t you, though?” Combeferre smiled at him, but he did sound a tad worried. It was strange to be the one Combeferre was worried about, usually he had his hands full with other people’s problems, and Grantaire wasn’t sure if he liked being the centre of his attention.

“I have a feeling you’d really get along with my sponsor.” His sponsor was a great guy, but Grantaire was stubborn and when he didn’t feel like going to meetings he just wouldn’t and no one could convince him otherwise. “But don’t worry, I’m fine.” He even meant it. Sort of.

Combeferre nodded. “Take care,” he said and squeezed Grantaire’s arm, leaving him standing in front of his studio, knowing the way Combeferre’s touch had sent sparks flying down his spine would definitely get him into trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire was running late. That wasn’t exactly a novelty, and no one was going to be at the Musain on time anyway, but Grantaire had been planning on getting there early anyway.

The pub was closed today, for the sake of a little Christmas party, and even though Feuilly had promised that he and Bahorel would take care of everything, Grantaire felt somewhat guilty that he wasn’t there to help, even though his week off had officially started two hours ago.

He also had a present for Combeferre and he’d wanted to give it to him before everyone else showed up, since they had a very strict _no presents_ rule, which Grantaire usually welcomed, but now it was downright inconvenient. He wouldn’t see him any other time before Christmas and he really didn’t just want to show up at Combeferre and Enjolras’ flat – for many reasons.

Grantaire still wasn’t quite sure what was going on, only that Combeferre seemed to be on his mind more than anything else since they’d gone to the ice rink together. He’d drawn a quick sketch of Combeferre, sitting on the ice, smiling up at him just before Grantaire had pulled him back to his feet, and he’d kept working on it, had added small details, and after he’d finished it he’d decided that it would make a nice Christmas present for Combeferre. He gave his sketches to people all the time. It wasn’t a big deal. Really.

He drove to the Musain, about thirty minutes late, the drawing on the passenger seat, his guitar on the backseat. When he got there he left the drawing, but took his guitar.

He was barely inside when someone had already thrown a handful of glitter at him. When his initial confusion had passed, he saw that it had been Courfeyrac, who was sitting next to the door, antlers on his head and wearing what looked like a self-knitted Christmas jumper.

“Hello to you, too,” Grantaire said lowly and made a futile attempt at shaking the glitter out of his hair.

“See, I know you look good in green, but there’s no reason to turn into the Grinch, okay?” Courfeyrac said and produced a Santa hat seemingly out of nowhere. He firmly tugged it over Grantaire’s curls and patted his cheek. “Much better.”

Grantaire bestowed him with the fakest smile he could possibly manage, set down his guitar and walked past the bar to the back of the pub, where some of his friends were already gathered around a table.

Feuilly and Bahorel were there, obviously, and both of them seemed to have escaped the glitter, but not the Santa hats, Jehan was wearing a Christmas jumper that matched Courfeyrac’s, so it was safe to assume that they were of his making, Enjolras was sitting next to him, looking like he was being tortured, which probably had to do with the antlers on his head, and next to him sat Combeferre, his dark shirt covered in glitter, smiling when Grantaire slid onto the chair next to him.

“I see you’ve encountered Courfeyrac,” Combeferre mused, brushing over his shirt, sending glitter flying everywhere.

Enjolras sighed heavily. “Will you stop doing that?”

“Enjolras,” Bahorel roared and reached over Jehan to give Enjolras a pat on the back. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“Yes, Enjolras, do we need to bathe you in eggnog and throw mistletoes at you?” Jehan poked him in the ribs. “Or maybe we should just get you another drink.”

“No, I’m good, Combeferre’s gone a bit overboard with this one already.” Enjolras glared down into his drink while everyone around him burst into giggles. Enjolras didn’t drink, at least usually, which meant he was sober enough to have a proper argument with Grantaire. When he did get drunk, however, he usually fell asleep curled up around someone. Preferably Combeferre.

For some reason Grantaire was genuinely hoping that that wasn’t going to be the case tonight.

He snuck a glance at Combeferre, who was still smiling the same small smile as before, and it made his stomach flutter in a way that made him feel somewhat uneasy. This was a feeling he wouldn’t normally connect with Combeferre. His gaze flickered back to Enjolras for a second, then he reached for the plate of Christmas biscuits in the middle of the table and tried not to think about it anymore.

It didn’t take long until the rest of their friends started filing in. Marius and Cosette already were in full Christmas gear, also with matching jumpers and hats, Joly, who didn’t take too well to the glitter, sat down next to Grantaire, sneezing for about half an hour until he finally calmed down, and Bossuet arrived wearing a Santa costume and managed to spill his beer over his beard the minute he sat down. Musichetta and Eponine came in already slightly tipsy and accepted the antlers Courfeyrac handed them with enthusiastic shouts.

Grantaire ended up sitting on one of the barstools, chatting with Bahorel, who was busy mixing cocktails behind the bar. It wasn’t until then that he realised that someone – most likely Courfeyrac – had strategically placed mistletoes about the room and that one of them happened to be right above his head.

“Mistletoe,” Jehan screeched as he ran towards Grantaire and almost tackled him off his chair.

Grantaire didn’t even get a chance to look up to check where exactly it was, Jehan just planted a kiss right on his mouth. He thought himself safe after that. He’d never been more wrong in his life. After he’d been kissed by Joly, Eponine and Courfeyrac as well, he decided to go back to his initial spot, but only after he’d dismissed the possibility that Combeferre might walk by and he’d get a chance to steal a kiss from him, too.

His brain wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

Combeferre smiled at him when he sat down next to him again and Grantaire wished that he could say that it didn’t make him feel comfortably warm. Enjolras, still next to Combeferre, watched Marius and Cosette repeatedly throwing one of the mistletoes at each other before they kissed, with an expression of something between disbelief and confusion on his face.

His expression changed rapidly when Courfeyrac snatched the mistletoe from Marius and threw it against Enjolras’ head. “Mistletoe,” he cooed.

“I’m not kissing you,” Enjolras said, already slurring his speech. Grantaire was pretty sure that Enjolras would be fast asleep within the next hour.

Courfeyrac clutched at his heart and went for his most pained expression. “You hurt me deeply, friend.” His hurt couldn’t have been that deep, though, because ten seconds later he was busy digging up Grantaire’s guitar. “We should sing Christmas carols,” he said excitedly.

There was a collective groan, but no one did anything to stop Grantaire when he started tuning his guitar. He was a little distracted  by Joly, who was already singing Silent Night, repeating the first verse over and over again, because he didn’t seem to be able to remember the rest, and by Courfeyrac, who was trying to get a kiss from Combeferre by waving around a mistletoe in front of his face.

 He wasn’t jealous. Not at all. Nope. In fact, he really didn’t care. Not in the slightest. Especially because Courfeyrac was with Jehan, which was all the more reason not to pay this any mind. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were good friends and that was it.

Grantaire took a deep breath and turned back to tuning his guitar. Repeating _I don’t care anyway_ like a mantra in his head.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to care, he did want to, but he knew that if he allowed himself to explore those feelings, he’d end up being disappointed. Mostly in himself. Because people like Combeferre didn’t date people like Grantaire. People like Combeferre went to dates in restaurants, they didn’t go to the next best bar, only just keeping from buying a drink, found someone to take home and turned the lights of so they didn’t have to look the other in the eyes.

There were things Grantaire couldn’t give to Combeferre, simply because he didn’t know _how_. And Combeferre didn’t care about him anyway. Well, he did. But not in the way Grantaire would have liked him to care about him.

“You seem distracted,” Combeferre mused and gently touched his arm. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah... sorry, I was just... thinking,” Grantaire muttered, managing to grin at Enjolras when he saw that he was watching them. It probably came out a little lopsided.

By the end of the evening Grantaire felt more exhausted than ever, just because he’d been trying so hard to keep something that resembled a smile plastered on his face.

He helped clean up, just like everyone else, except Enjolras, of course, because he was sleeping in one of the booths. Courfeyrac had sprinkled the rest of the glitter over him with an evil cackle and Grantaire was sincerely hoping that Enjolras wouldn’t wake up as long as they were all still around.

Like the good person he was, Grantaire offered to help Combeferre carry Enjolras out to the car, so they wouldn’t have to wake him up and they somehow managed to manoeuvre Enjolras into Combeferre’s car without bumping his head against the frame of the door. They did leave a trail of glitter, though.

“I’m going to make Courfeyrac clean my car,” Combeferre mumbled as he shut the door as quietly as possible. “Thanks for your help.”

“I really only opened the door,” Grantaire said, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Well, that was helpful.” Combeferre shuffled his feet. “I, um... Merry Christmas.”

“Right, Christmas.” Grantaire grabbed Combeferre by the arm, suddenly reminded that there was something he’d wanted to give to him. “I made something for you, do you think he’ll be alright for a minute?” he asked, nodding at the car, where Enjolras was still deep in slumber.

Combeferre’s eyes widened. “Yes, sure.”

Grantaire dragged Combeferre around the corner and quickly got his present from where he’d left it. He hadn’t wrapped it or anything, because there was nothing that made him as angry as wrapping gifts and he was pretty sure that Combeferre would even like it without a bow tied around it.

“Thank you so much,” Combeferre said, smiling broadly. “And thanks for making me look less awkward than I actually looked.”

Grantaire snorted. “Aw, come on, you weren’t too bad.” He looked up at Combeferre, who was holding his drawing like it was the most precious gift he’d ever been given. Combeferre was really tall. Grantaire was pretty sure that he’d have to stand on his tiptoes to kiss him.

Grantaire was also pretty sure that Combeferre should be getting back to Enjolras, and yet here he was, smiling down at Grantaire. Really, all he’d have to do was lean in.

Combeferre then moved to pull something from his pocket. It turned out to be half of the mistletoe Courfeyrac had kept throwing around the room earlier. “Mistletoe,” Grantaire deadpanned, thinking he couldn’t possibly look at Combeferre right now.

Before Grantaire could say anything more eloquent, Combeferre asked, “May I?” His voice alone would have been enough to have Grantaire on his knees.

Grantaire only nodded, not trusting his voice in that very moment. Combeferre’s hand was gentle when it cupped Grantaire’s cheek, his lips even gentler when they brushed against Grantaire’s, only for the briefest moment.

“Okay,” Grantaire whispered once Combeferre had pulled away.

“I won’t be around for the next couple of days,” Combeferre said quietly, when he realised that that was all Grantaire had to say, “but I’ll call you as soon as I get back, I promise.”

Grantaire grinned, despite himself. It had been years since he’d last heard that sentence.

He was so fucked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was asked to continue this and I'll definitely try to give it a proper ending, just yell at me if I forget about this fic again.

Grantaire spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve in a constant state of anxiety. He holed up in his flat and tried to keep his mind off thinking too much about Combeferre by cooking meals that no one was around to eat because he wasn’t in the mood to invite anyone over.

He went to bed in the middle of the night, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come easily, he watched way too much TV because he didn’t really have the energy to do anything that would have taken more of an effort, he spent too much time in the liquor aisle at the supermarket, he declined every invitation to the Musain, but made sure to send everyone texts every now and then so they wouldn’t worry about him.

Bahorel came by once to bring him some soup, just in case he wasn’t feeling well and was too proud to ask anyone for help, he said, looking down at him with a broad grin on his face. Grantaire took the soup from him and thanked him, glad that Bahorel didn’t hover and only told him to come boxing with him when he felt better. Two days later he found a book in his letterbox that he was pretty sure Jehan had left there. Joly sent him a smiley face every morning and kept him updated on what was going on at the Musain.

And soon enough Grantaire had to force himself to get out of bed in the morning instead of sometime in the afternoon because his students started coming back for their lessons, which thankfully proved distracting enough for him to forget about Combeferre’s promise to call him as soon as he was back in town.

He knew that Combeferre would probably come back when classes started again, and since Joly had told him that he had to go back to university the following Monday, it was safe to say that it would be the same for Combeferre.

But Grantaire definitely didn’t wait for Combeferre to call. He only made sure that his battery never ran out, just because that was a pretty reasonable thing to do, and maybe he checked for messages a little more often than usual, but that was probably just a really strange coincidence.

When Grantaire’s phone did ring on Monday evening, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d been about to try to decide whether he should order pizza or maybe fried noodles or something else entirely, so he grabbed for his phone with his eyes still on his takeout menus. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Combeferre said, and Grantaire nearly dropped his phone, because Combeferre was really, actually calling him.

It took Grantaire a couple of seconds to get it together. “Hey.”

Combeferre laughed quietly. “Hi,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Grantaire said reflexively. “How about you?”

“Enjolras said he hasn’t seen you in a while,” Combeferre said, not answering his question. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise. I just needed some time alone, that’s all. And it’s not like Enjolras is hanging out at the Musain day and night, maybe he could have seen me but he just wasn’t around.” Quite frankly, he was surprised that Enjolras had even noticed.

Combeferre sighed. “He said Feuilly hadn’t seen you in a while either.”

“Right, maybe I spent a lot of time at home.” Grantaire bit his lip. “Did you have a good time with your family?”

“Yes, it was really nice,” Combeferre said lowly. “Listen, I thought maybe we could meet up at the Musain. If you’re not busy, that is.”

“I actually am, I’m sorry.” He actually wasn’t, but he really couldn’t bring himself to do this right now. I needed a bit to calm himself down, to come to terms with the fact that Combeferre still wanted to see him.

“Oh, no need to apologise, it really was a bit on short notice,” Combeferre said quickly. “Maybe some other time, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire said. “I’ll call you. Or I’ll see you at the Musain at some point. I, um, I really have to go. See you.”

“See you,” Combeferre said and Grantaire hung up.

He groaned. That hadn’t gone well. Not at all.

Grantaire decided to forego dinner for now, grabbed his keys but not his phone, tugged the beanie Jehan had made for him over his head, pulled on his coat, and went for a walk.

It was cold outside, cold enough for Grantaire to regret that he hadn’t bothered to buy actual winter boots. And maybe he should have put on a scarf, maybe he should have made an effort to find his gloves.

He was about to get on a bus back home when he realised that he was actually not too far away from Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta’s flat. He knew that Bossuet probably would be at work, maybe Musichetta as well, but at least Joly should be home – if he wasn’t hiding out at the library.

When Grantaire rang the doorbell, he was buzzed in immediately. He walked up the stairs and found the door to the flat unlocked as always, wondering once again if his friends were a little too trusting for their own good.

He picked up Leia, one of the two kittens Joly had adopted only a few months ago, on his way inside and found Joly on the sofa, wearing a huge jumper, sipping a cup of tea. It seemed that Grantaire had been right and he really was the only one home. “Hey, Grantaire.”

“Aren’t you scared that one day someone will just waltz in here and rob you?” Grantaire said as way of greeting and sat down at Joly’s feet. “Or maybe Luke and Leia will learn how to use doorhandles and escape.”

Joly shrugged. “So far you’re the only one who just walks in here. And my cats love me, they have no reason to escape.” He grinned and reached out to scratch Leia behind the ears. “Do you want tea?” Joly didn’t ask if he was alright. He didn’t have to. He knew him too well to still have to ask.

“Sure,” Grantaire said, waiting patiently until Joly had returned with a cup of tea and some biscuits. “There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he added, once Joly had sat down again.

Joly raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Hypothetically,” Grantaire started, looking down at his tea, “if there was a guy…”

“There’s a guy?” Joly asked excitedly. “Oh my god, tell me everything.”

“No, look, it’s a bit complicated.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s way too good for me,” Grantaire said gruffly. “He’s really smart and caring and he might actually like me, God knows why, and I just don’t know what to do, because I’m a fucking mess and I really don’t want to do that to anyone.”

“Grantaire,” Joly said, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand, “I don’t know who that guy is, but I can assure you that you are definitely good enough. So why don’t you sit him down and tell him that you have bad days sometimes, tell him what he’s getting himself into and then just give it a try. And if he doesn’t still like you after you’ve told him, he wasn’t worth it anyway.”

Grantaire sighed heavily. “He already knows.” Which made it even harder for Grantaire to understand why Combeferre would even bother. He was a fuck-up and Combeferre deserved so much better. Combeferre had to know that.

“So the problem is that you can’t get over yourself?”

Grantaire huffed out a laugh. “It’s just that sooner or later he’s going to realise that things will never work between us and then my whole life will go to shit.”

“Seriously?” Joly asked. “You’ve been with so many people over the years, how is this different?”

“Well, this isn’t just one of those _hey you’re cool let’s fuck and then never talk to each other again_ things.” Grantaire shrugged and nearly spilled his tea. He put down the cup and hugged Leia to his chest instead. “I don’t know, Joly, it’s just so weird… I haven’t felt like this about anyone in a really long time.”

“Since Enjolras?” Joly asked knowingly.

Grantaire nodded. “Shit, I just really like him, I don’t know what to do.”

“Give him a chance,” Joly said matter-of-factly. “And if it goes wrong you can always come here and bury yourself under a pile of cats. You’ll still have all of us.”

Grantaire remained silent. If he did give things with Combeferre a chance and if it didn’t work out, he’d definitely have a much bigger problem, because he was certain that it would be his fault and everyone would hate him. That was what happened to people who dared to break Combeferre’s heart.

“Unless it’s someone from our group of friends,” Joly said slowly, staring at him intently.

Again, Grantaire remained silent, but he knew that Joly knew and now there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

Joly, much to Grantaire’s surprise, smiled. “Ah, I see. Since there aren’t really a lot of options here, I’m going to guess… Combeferre?”

“This whole thing just sort of… crept up on me? I mean, he was always a good friend, but recently… he’s such a great guy. And I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s horrible, I constantly want to call him or go to the Musain to see if he’s there and I really want to kiss him again.”

“Again?” Joly asked, his eyes going wide. “Excuse me, are you telling me that you kissed Combeferre and never said a word about it? I’m so offended right now.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “It was just a tiny little kiss.”

“But apparently it was a very good tiny little kiss,” Joly said. “So why don’t you go kiss him again and tell me about it right away.”

Grantaire chewed on his bottom lip, lost in thought. “Maybe,” he said eventually.

Joly nodded enthusiastically. “Listen to your good old friend Joly.”

“My good old friend Joly needs to stop talking about himself in the third person,” Grantaire said lowly, ducking his head when Joly threw a pillow at him.

Grantaire let Joly talk him into staying for dinner since Musichetta was cooking and that was really something Grantaire wasn’t going to miss out on. Musichetta’s cooking was excellent as always, he even got a Tupperware box full of leftovers that would probably last him days, and later on Bossuet gave him a ride home so he wouldn’t have to wait for the bus out in the cold.

When he got home he was greeted by deafening silence and a missed call and two texts waiting for him on his phone that he had so conveniently forgotten at his flat.

The missed call was from Bahorel, the texts were from Feuilly, one asking if he could play at the Musain next Wednesday, the other one saying not to worry if he didn’t have time. Usually they asked him well in advance, so it was safe to say that they probably needed him as a replacement for someone else. He obviously couldn’t leave them hanging, so he told Feuilly that he’d help them out.

He briefly thought about texting Combeferre to ask him if he was going to be there, but then changed his mind. If he wasn’t going to be bartending that night, he probably had better things to do. And Grantaire was sure that if he asked him, Combeferre would come, and he really didn’t want to subject him to one and a half hours of him playing stupid cover songs. Especially since he’d seen him play about a billion times already.

He eventually decided on talking to Combeferre, should he happen to be there. It was quite probable that he’d be at home studying or that he’d be at the hospital or that he’d have some obscure other thing to do. After an embarrassingly long time of silently debating with himself, he eventually decided on calling Combeferre if he wasn’t at the Musain.  

 


	6. Chapter 6

Combeferre really was at the Musain. And Grantaire definitely couldn’t talk to him.

He’d said hello to him as he’d walked inside, at least he’d managed that much, then Bahorel had helped him set up and he’d tried not to look at Combeferre too much. Although that was a pretty hard thing to do when Combeferre was right there with his sleeves rolled up and his tattoos poking out and his glasses sliding down his nose.

Combeferre still seemed a little lost behind the bar, his brow furrowed in concentration when a girl explained to him what exactly she wanted. Grantaire grinned, but quickly turned serious again when he saw that Bahorel had caught him staring.

Bahorel raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I just remembered that I need to get some water,” Grantaire mumbled and quickly turned to tune his guitar.

When he was done there was a glass of water already next to him on the stage and he didn’t have a reason to go over to the bar after all. He actually did feel somewhat relieved, even though it was ridiculous because at the same time he just wanted to be around Combeferre day and night. He definitely needed to stop being a fucking coward by the end of the evening.

Grantaire played his songs and everything went surprisingly smoothly, although he once spluttered a little when he accidentally looked in direction of the bar and found Combeferre smiling at him.

Afterwards he slowly made his way over, waiting patiently until Combeferre had mixed a couple of complicated looking cocktails that he definitely struggled with and finally turned his attention to him.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, fiddling with a napkin that someone had left behind.

“Hello.” Combeferre smiled and leaned a little closer. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m good,” Grantaire said, biting his lip to keep himself from grinning. “Unless you want to make another one of those colourful things?” He was pretty sure that they’d be equally complicated without alcohol. Grantaire had never cared much about cocktails, he’d always been pretty straightforward when it came to drinks – he’d liked whatever he could drink straight from the bottle.

Combeferre rolled his eyes, somehow making it look fond. “Definitely not.” He quickly glanced down the bar, then back at Grantaire. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Grantaire said quickly. “And yourself?”

“Fine,” Combeferre replied, tilting his head. “Can we… talk? Later on? Or maybe tomorrow? We could have dinner. Or just coffee. Or… something else.”

Grantaire was pretty sure that he had never seen Combeferre this flustered. Actually, he’d never seen him flustered at all. Well, obviously he wasn’t the only one who was incredibly nervous about all of this. He grinned. “Yes.”

“Yes to what?” Combeferre asked, and he just looked so damn adorable – and yes, Grantaire was aware that _adorable_ usually wasn’t an adjective he’d use to describe Combeferre – that Grantaire just wanted to kiss him again.

“Whatever works best for you,” Grantaire said with a shrug.

Someone cleared their throat noisily. Grantaire looked up to find Enjolras standing next to them, looking more than just a little uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your, um, conversation,” he said, turning to Combeferre, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going home.” He patted Grantaire on the back. “You were very good tonight, Grantaire.”

Grantaire only looked at him with wide eyes, somehow managing to nod.

“Was he just… _nice_ to me?” Grantaire asked once Enjolras was out the door.

“Well, you really were very good,” Combeferre said with a shrug, although the corner of his mouth was twitching dangerously, so it was probably safe to say that he was rather amused as well.

Grantaire smirked. “Well, maybe I can drive you home or something?”

“Oh, are you staying until we close up?”

“If I have a reason to,” Grantaire said. “Maybe you’ll have to make me one of those colourful drinks after all.”

Grantaire grew increasingly nervous as time went on, although he did find a suitable distraction in Courfeyrac and Jehan, at whose table he sat until Feuilly and Bahorel started closing up. He took the money that Bahorel handed him without a complaint as always and stuffed it all back into the tip jars on top of the bar as soon as no one was looking.

Combeferre helped him carry all his equipment back to his car and then sat down in the passenger seat, keeping strangely quiet. Not that Combeferre was usually loud and outgoing, but Grantaire had always thought that he was the master of pleasant conversation, only now he seemed to be at a loss for words.

When Grantaire was starting to feel uncomfortable and started to wreck his brains to find something to say, Combeferre finally cleared his throat. “Do you want to go to your place? I can help you carry your things back inside.”

“Only if you don’t mind,” Grantaire muttered. “I can drive you home afterwards.” It wasn’t far from his flat to Combeferre’s, but it was freezing and Grantaire would feel bad if he had to walk back.

Combeferre only smiled at that, so Grantaire took that as permission to stop at the curb next to his building. It didn’t take them long to carry all of Grantaire’s equipment inside and they were soon standing in the middle of Grantaire’s music room, just staring at each other. And even though Grantaire was starting to feel a little uneasy, he’d probably never tire of looking at Combeferre.

He was looking around the room, at the photos of his students at recitals, the painting of a stage behind the piano that Grantaire had done to make the place look a little more exciting, his various guitars, then Grantaire cleared his throat and Combeferre’s eyes snapped back to him.

“Do you want coffee?” Grantaire asked, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Or tea? A glass of water?”

Combeferre smiled and walked towards the door that led to the staircase up to Grantaire’s flat. “Tea would be nice.”

Grantaire caught up with him and led him up the stairs, quickly ducking into the kitchen to make two cups of tea, while Combeferre went to make himself comfortable on his sofa. Grantaire tried to smile at him as he set down the cups on the table.

He’d meant to leave some space between himself and Combeferre when he sat down, but he somehow ended up right next to him with their thighs pressed together.

“Thanks for the tea,” Combeferre said, his eyes never leaving his. He didn’t move to touch his tea, only kept looking at him, and usually Grantaire got nervous when people stared at him for a prolonged amounts of time, which was why playing gigs really wasn’t his favourite thing to do sometimes, but when it was Combeferre who was looking at him, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Grantaire bit his lip, somehow also unable to look away, wondering if them kissing again was any possibility at all.

Combeferre tilted his head ever so slightly and Grantaire briefly thought that maybe he was trying to have one of those nonverbal conversations that he always had with Enjolras with him, but then he reached out, tentatively, obviously encouraged when Grantaire didn’t move away. He cupped Grantaire’s cheek, his thumb lightly running over his skin.

“May I?” Combeferre asked lowly.

Grantaire nodded, not even sure what exactly Combeferre was asking permission for, because it didn’t really matter to him. Combeferre could do whatever the fuck he wanted and Grantaire would be a hundred percent on board with it.

Combeferre leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss, much like the one they’d shared after the Christmas party at the Musain, then he moved to pull away again, but this time Grantaire didn’t let him. He wrapped an arm around Combeferre, pulling him closer, brining their lips together again, kissing him thoroughly this time.

They were both panting once they broke apart, Combeferre’s hair looked messier than Grantaire had ever seen it and his face was flushed bright red and Grantaire couldn’t help but be happy at the thought that this was his doing.

Combeferre grinned and let out a low chuckle. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire muttered and reached up to straighten Combeferre’s glasses.

“No need to apologise,” Combeferre said and sank back against the sofa, still smiling at Grantaire. “So,” he added, “would you maybe like to go out sometime? Not that I’m not perfectly happy with kissing you on your sofa, or in any other given place, but that’s actually what I meant to ask you.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, um, the kissing was nice.” He took a deep breath. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to,” he said quickly, because he did want to, he wanted to go have dinner with him, he wanted to watch movies with him, he wanted to take him to museums and to parks and he wanted Combeferre to drag him into bookstores. He wanted all that, but that was what was going to happen on the good days. He didn’t dare think about the bad ones. “I’m just not sure if it’s such a good idea.”

Combeferre tilted his head, not looking angry but curious. “Why?”

“Why?” Grantaire echoed. “For a billion reasons. You know me. You know what I’m like. I’ve made so many mistakes. And I’ll keep making mistakes and I can’t just ask you to be there for that. It would be selfish and I don’t want to do that to you.”

“Yes, I know what you’re like,” Combeferre said slowly, “I know how hard you’re trying, I know what a wonderful person you are. Everyone has made mistakes at some point. And you’re not asking me to do anything, okay? I’m aware that things might not always be easy, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. I like you, Grantaire, and I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I think you like me, too. So will you go out with me?” He paused for a second, looking a little surprised with himself. “And you don’t have to say yes or no right now, just think about it, alright?”

Grantaire only gaped at him for a second until his brain had caught up with what Combeferre had just said to him. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? It had sounded like Combeferre really did know what he was in for, that he really didn’t mind, that he was really, genuinely interested in him. Grantaire cleared his throat. “You’re right, I do like you.”

“So you’ll think about it?” Combeferre asked. “I don’t want to be pushy, but I feel like you’re trying to talk me out of this for all the wrong reasons.”

Grantaire resisted the urge to just run away because he was a massive wimp. He could do this, he could go out with Combeferre, it wasn’t like he was making a lifelong commitment here, it was just a date. One date. And possibly more after that, but he didn’t need to think about those right now. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow?”

“My lecture ends at six,” Combeferre said. “But if you want more time to think about this-”

“No,” Grantaire interrupted, shaking his head. It wasn’t good if he had too much time to think about things sometimes. “I’ll be there. Maybe not at six because I have a student at six, but how about half past eight? If that’s not too late? And then we can go to one of those horrible campus cafés and drink terrible coffee and eat a soggy sandwich.”

“That works just fine, I meant to go to the library anyway. And maybe we’ll find a better place to have dinner at,” Combeferre said, grinning. He reached for his tea, which was probably starting to get cold, and took a sip.

“Do you want to watch a film or something?” Grantaire asked. It was getting late, but he really didn’t want Combeferre to leave just yet. “I mean, unless you have to leave, because then I’ll drive you home.”

“I really should get going,” Combeferre replied, looking almost disappointed. “Exams start soon and I wanted to get up early to study.”

“Right, of course, I’m sorry.”

“I would really appreciate it if you drove me home, though.”

Grantaire did when Combeferre had finished his tea – Grantaire still hadn’t touched his own – and even got to steal a goodnight kiss. He smiled all the way back to his own flat.


	7. Chapter 7

Grantaire was pretty sure that he was going to die. This was his first official date with Combeferre, he hadn’t slept all night and he would probably manage to screw this all up in the span of five minutes. He wasn’t even sure if he was waiting in front of the right building, for fuck’s sake.

He somehow managed to work himself up even more because Combeferre still wasn’t there five minutes after they were supposed to meet and Grantaire was starting to think that he might have forgotten about him.

Obviously he hadn’t, though, and he came jogging out of the building not too much later, apologising profusely and giving him an awkward hug after he hadn’t seemed to be able to decide whether or not he should kiss him. Grantaire certainly wouldn’t have minded a kiss, but he was also happy with sitting across from Combeferre in a small café that served excellent coffee for about three hours until they were the only ones left, neither of them feeling like leaving just yet.

Their waitress soon grew restless and kept hovering next to their table until they’d both finished their coffees. Combeferre insisted on paying and Grantaire didn’t even put up much of a fight, only said that next time it would be his turn.

“There’ll be a next time, then?” Combeferre asked as they walked out of the café, heading down the street to the bus stop.

“If you want there to be a next time,” Grantaire said slowly.

“I’d definitely want that, yes,” Combeferre said, reaching out to take his hand. “Is this… okay?”

Grantaire squeezed his hand, maybe a little too hard, and nodded. “That’s totally fine.”

Combeferre let out a small sigh. “Good.” Grantaire could tell there was something else that he wanted to say, so he kept quiet until Combeferre spoke up again, sounding a little timid now. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay?” He wasn’t sure what exactly what Combeferre was about to say to him, but it couldn’t be anything good. Combeferre was using the same kind of tone he always used on Enjolras when he tried to convince him that whatever he was planning on doing was likely to result in death and destruction.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Do you want to walk back instead of taking the bus?”

“Sure,” Grantaire replied, although he was fairly certain that that couldn’t have been all. “Was that it?”

“Not exactly,” Combeferre said lowly. Again, he didn’t say anything else for a while and Grantaire, still holding on to his hand, tugged him into alleyways and side streets whenever he knew a shortcut, never saying a word.

Combeferre kept tracing circles across his palm all the while and for once Grantaire didn’t regret not bothering to find his gloves.

They’d already made it halfway to Combeferre’s flat when he eventually said something. “Listen,” he started, “I just wanted to tell you that it’s been a while for me.” He paused, his eyes fixed at the pavement. “Since I’ve been with someone,” he continued, his voice even quieter now. “I thought I should mention that, although you probably know anyway.”

Grantaire did know. He knew Combeferre had had a girlfriend in high school, then a boyfriend in his first year of university, then another girlfriend about one and a half years ago, but not for long – or at least that was what Courfeyrac had told him at a party once when he’d been drunk and had apparently thought that he needed to update Grantaire on everyone’s love life. Grantaire wasn’t even sure why he remembered.

“We can take things slow,” Grantaire muttered. He’d be happy not to rush into things anyway. He’d tried being in relationships before, but that had never ended well, he’d always managed to screw things up, and once he’d realised, he’d made a point in keeping things casual. He’d spent many nights with nameless strangers and at some point he’d even grown tired of that.

 “That would be… the reasonable thing to do, I suppose,” Combeferre said.

“It’s been a while for me as well,” Grantaire mumbled. “And my relationships never actually lasted that long. I just… I don’t know.” He shrugged and decided that it would be for the best if he stopped talking altogether before he said something stupid that would make Combeferre realise that he really shouldn’t be dating him. If dating was what they were doing.

“Maybe we should just go out again and take things from there,” Combeferre suggest.

“Always so reasonable,” Grantaire said, grinning at him. “I like that idea. And maybe after we go out, we could go out _again_.”

Combeferre nodded. “That’s exactly what we should do.”

Grantaire did eventually get the kiss he’d been hoping for and the next day he got another one after Combeferre walked him home from the small cinema half a mile from his flat. Sunday found them making out on Grantaire’s couch for an hour when Combeferre was taking a study break.

Combeferre made a point in texting him every day, most of the time while Grantaire was still working and barely had time to reply. Sometimes he called him back in the evening and Combeferre always made time to talk to him for a bit even though Grantaire knew that it was time that Combeferre should have spent with his nose in his books.

Grantaire loved talking to Combeferre, it didn’t matter what he was telling him – whether he was talking about one of the exams he was studying for or about what he’d had for breakfast in the morning or about his and Enjolras’ neighbours who were apparently on the brink of getting a divorce if the volume of their arguments was anything to go by – Combeferre always sounded calm, and listening to him, as Grantaire soon found out, calmed him down as well.

“Enjolras is trying to make dinner,” Combeferre told him one evening, sounding amused. “I’m afraid that he’ll give me food poisoning.”

Grantaire snorted. “You could come over here for dinner.” He’d technically already had dinner, but he wouldn’t mind heating up the leftovers for Combeferre.

“I’d love to, but I really can’t.” Combeferre sighed, then Grantaire could hear the rustling of paper. “Maybe after my last exam?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said, briefly wondering how ridiculous he was looking right now – all by himself in his living room, grinning broadly.

“I’ll bring dessert,” Combeferre said. “Grantaire, I think I have to go. Enjolras needs help in the kitchen. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

When Grantaire woke up the next morning, he could immediately tell that it was a bad day. Well, it wasn’t a bad day just yet, it just had the potential to become one rather quickly. He somehow managed to crawl out of bed, got through all of the lessons he had to give, but in the evening he just felt like a giant lump of sadness.

And he knew he shouldn’t bother Combeferre, but he just really wanted to talk to him, even if it was just for a minute. Grantaire grabbed for his phone and sent Combeferre a text, asking if he maybe had a minute to spare.

His phone rang less than a minute later. “Hello,” he answered, “I really don’t want to bother you, I-”

“You’re not bothering me,” Combeferre interrupted. “Are you okay?”

Grantaire bit his lip. “Not really,” he muttered.

“How can I help?” Combeferre asked.

“You can’t, I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all.” Grantaire sighed. “I know you have to study. And you’re already helping.”

“I doubt it,” Combeferre said lowly. Then he fell silent and even that was better than sitting alone in his apartment, driving himself crazy. “Listen,” Combeferre added after a while, “why don’t you come over here? I’ll still have to study, but you can bring a book or something. Just in case you don’t want to be alone.”

“Would that really be okay?” He’d thought about going to Joly’s earlier, but he had to study, too, and he was probably distracted enough with Bossuet and Musichetta there as well.

“Absolutely,” Combeferre said, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Grantaire stared at his pile of unread books for a bit before he left, not sure which one to take, but eventually decided to take his sketchbook. He walked over there – stumbled more than walked actually, because the pavements were completely frozen over – nearly fell flat on his face half a dozen times, and was completely exhausted by the time he started making his way up to Combeferre’s flat.

He rang the doorbell and the door swung open only seconds later, but it wasn’t Combeferre who’d opened it for him. Enjolras looked at him with a frown. His hair was tied into a bun and he’d pinned a couple of loose strands back with hairclips, he was wearing pyjamas, and for some reason he had a spoon in his mouth.

“Hi,” Grantaire said, unsure what to do now. He didn’t know if Combeferre had told Enjolras that he was coming over, he didn’t even know if Enjolras knew that he and Combeferre had been going out on dates. Although he’d been of the impression that Combeferre and Enjolras told each other everything, so it was safe to assume that Enjolras did know.

“Hello,” Enjolras said as soon as he’d taken the spoon out of his mouth. He took a few steps back to let Grantaire in. “You know where Combeferre’s room is, right?”

Grantaire nodded and kicked off his shoes, watching as Enjolras shuffled into the kitchen. He shrugged off his coat, went down the hall and knocked on the door of Combeferre’s room. Combeferre called him inside and Grantaire found him sitting on his bed, books and notes all around him, several empty cups on one nightstand and an empty plate on the other. He was wearing pyjamas as well, smiling at Grantaire when he came walking inside.

“Let me just…” Combeferre started shifting around books until there was a spot big enough for Grantaire to sit in. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said and made himself comfortable.

Combeferre grinned and leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek before he picked up one of his books. “Let me know if you need anything… or just get whatever you want from the kitchen.”

Grantaire nodded. “Thanks. Also for letting me come over, I know you’re busy.” He still felt like curling up and not moving for the rest of the day or maybe drowning himself in a sea of vodka, but now he could at least distract himself by watching Combeferre study.

“It’s really not a problem,” Combeferre said, smiling at him before he turned his attention back to his book, his brow furrowed.

Grantaire idly worked on a couple of sketches until he realised that he probably wouldn’t be able to draw anything he even remotely liked today, then he put his sketchbook down, curled up on his side, his eyes trained on Combeferre, noted that he scrunched up his nose every now and then to keep his glasses from sliding too far down his nose and watched as his fingers quickly leafed through pages.

He barely noticed that his eyes kept fluttering shut, but caught himself thinking that Combeferre probably wouldn’t mind if he took a quick nap. He probably wouldn’t get much sleep once he went back home anyway.

Grantaire closed his eyes, listening to the sound of rustling paper, to the scratch of pen on paper, to the occasional frustrated sigh, then gentle fingers crept into his hair, slowly brushing through his curls and Grantaire let out a content sigh before he eventually drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up again the lights were still on and Combeferre was still surrounded by books, but he was snoring softly and his face was only inches from Grantaire’s. One of his books was still open on his chest, so Grantaire took it to put it at the end of the bed. Grantaire got up slowly and snuck down the hall to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, and once again encountered Enjolras.

Enjolras looked up from where he was stirring his instant coffee, nodding at him, his lips twitching into something that almost looked like a smile.

“Hello again,” Grantaire mumbled and opened a random cupboard, finding himself confronted with piles of differently sized plates.

“Anything specific you’re looking for?” Enjolras asked.

“I just wanted to get a glass of water,” Grantaire replied, taking a step back when Enjolras shooed him out of the way and got him a glass of water.

“So, you and Combeferre are… a thing?” Enjolras asked as he handed him his water.

“Don’t you talk to Combeferre about that?” Grantaire shot back, mainly because he wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question.

Enjolras shrugged. “Of course. But I’m talking to you now.”

“Well, how would you define… _a thing_?” Grantaire asked, starting to wish he’d never set foot in this kitchen. “I mean, we went out a couple of times and it was nice.” He shrugged, quickly glancing at Enjolras, who was leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest, his head tilted and his expression carefully neutral. “Look,” Grantaire continued. “I know I’m not good enough for him, I’m the first to agree with you on that, but-”

“Wait a second,” Enjolras interrupted, now frowning at him. “I never said you weren’t good enough for him. Why do you think you’re not good enough for him? Why do you think _I think_ you’re not good enough for him?”

Now it was Grantaire’s turn to frown. “You don’t?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I know we often disagree, but we’re friends and ultimately it isn’t up to me to decide who Combeferre wants to date. I know I haven’t been nice to some of the people he’s been going out with, but they were…” He made a face and shrugged. “Anyway, he likes you. And he likes going out with you. He smiles a lot.”

“He does?” Grantaire asked, ignoring the fact that his voice was about an octave higher than usual.

Enjolras smiled and patted him on the back. “Yes, he does. You should get back to him, he’s a light sleeper and he’s probably wondering where you are. And make sure he sleeps for a bit, he keeps telling me to get some rest, but he always forgets that he has to sleep, too.”

Grantaire only gaped at him as he left the kitchen, briefly wondering if the Enjolras he knew had been replaced by aliens. Or maybe he just turned into a mellow version of himself when it was late at night. Still mildly confused, Grantaire went back to Combeferre’s room, finding Combeferre wide awake again.

“Enjolras wants you to get some rest,” Grantaire muttered, stopping dead at the end of Combeferre’s bed, not sure what to do.

Combeferre smiled. “Of course he does.”

“Well,” Grantaire muttered, “I guess I should get going.” It was getting late and he’d imposed on Combeferre for far too long, even though he’d technically been asleep for most of the time he’d been here.

“Oh, of course. I mean, you could always stay a little longer.” Combeferre took off his glasses, carefully cleaning them with his sleeve. “You obviously have work in the morning, but I’ll be getting up early anyway. I could make you breakfast.”

“You want me to stay here?” _Here_ , with Combeferre, in Combeferre’s bed, all night.

“I know we agreed not to rush into things, but I really liked having you here this evening,” Combeferre said as he started collecting his books and notes and went to carefully set them all down on his desk, watching Grantaire.

Well, Grantaire wouldn’t say no to a few more hours in Combeferre’s incredibly comfortable bed. “Okay, I’ll stay. But only if you really don’t mind.”

“I really don’t,” Combeferre said and reached for his hand to pull him over to him. He put his arms around him and Grantaire let his head rest against Combeferre’s chest. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Grantaire whispered, a little preoccupied with how warm Combeferre was and how steady his heartbeat was and how nice it felt to just be held for a while.

“Better than earlier?” Combeferre asked and kissed the top of his head.

Grantaire let out a noncommittal grunt, because even though he did feel better, he was still incredibly exhausted for no reason at all and he still wanted to bury himself under a thick blanket and not come out for about a week. But he wouldn’t mind having Combeferre there with him. “Bed?” he asked, his face pressed into Combeferre’s shirt.

“Sure,” Combeferre murmured and gently pushed him over to his bed.


	8. Chapter 8

“Grantaaaiiiiiire,” Courfeyrac shouted so loudly that Grantaire nearly dropped his phone.

“What the fuck,” Grantaire said lowly. He paused the movie he’d been watching, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He knew that some of the guys were out tonight, celebrating that they’d survived all their exams. Combeferre had asked him if he wanted to go out with them, but Grantaire had declined, since he hadn’t exactly felt like being surrounded by a lot of drunk people but not being one of them.

“You have to help me,” Courfeyrac yelled. “Grantaire can you hear me? I need your help.”

Grantaire sighed. This had happened before. That time Courfeyrac had asked him to bring him a taco to the Corinthe. “Okay, sure, what do you need?” he asked, knowing that it was quite likely that he was going to regret it.

“Listen, I’m gonna go home with Jehan,” Courfeyrac said, then there was a crash, followed by loud laughter, then Courfeyrac was back. “Aw shit, I fell off my chair. Anyway, I’m going home with Jehan.” He giggled. “Grantaire, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you just fine. Have fun with Jehan,” Grantaire said. “And I’m definitely not going to help you with that, just so we’re clear.”

“No, that’s not what I need help with. You have to help me with Combeferre.”

“Combeferre?”

“Yeah, he’s sleeping.”

“I still don’t know what exactly you need help with,” Grantaire said slowly.

“Well, we’re all going home, but he can’t go home because he’s sleeping, so you need to come here and take him home, because he’s really not that drunk, but I don’t want him to walk all the way home by himself. Please, Grantaire, you’re my only hope, I mean, I’d totally take him home, but Jehan’s place is really fucking far away from here and I’ve been telling him to move in with me for ages because then he wouldn’t live so far away from here.” He paused, then he cleared his throat. “Shit, I guess he didn’t think I was serious about that. So, can you come here and pick up Combeferre, because you basically live right next to the Musain anyway?”

Grantaire wasn’t sure how to handle all that information, but eventually managed to answer. “Sure, I’ll pick up Combeferre.”

“Thank you, you’re the bestest,” Courfeyrac slurred and hung up before Grantaire could say another word.

Grantaire sighed, turned off the TV and fished a pair of jeans off the floor, because driving over to the Musain in only his boxers and a ratty shirt with holes in it probably wasn’t the best of ideas.

When he arrived at the Musain less than ten minutes later, Courfeyrac and Jehan and whoever else had been out with Combeferre had left, only Combeferre was still there, still fast asleep, his glasses next to him on the table.

“I told them to go home,” Feuilly said and nodded at Combeferre’s table. “He’s fine, he just had a bit too much and got tired. Get him some water before he goes to sleep, okay?”

Grantaire nodded and went to wake up Combeferre, who blinked up at him with bleary eyes, obviously confused. “Grantaire?”

“Hey,” Grantaire said, grabbing him by the arm. “I’m here to take you home, can you stand up?”

“What are you doing here?” Combeferre asked as he stumbled to his feet. He grabbed for his glasses, nearly poking himself in the eye in the process, and looked around the empty pub with a frown. “Where did everyone go?”

“Everyone’s gone home and you’re going home, too,” Grantaire said, trying his hardest not to laugh. Combeferre was adorable when he was tipsy. Grantaire helped him into his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“Can I come with you?” Combeferre asked, swaying a little, so Grantaire put an arm around him to keep him steady. “Please?”

“Wait, you want to come home with me?”

Combeferre nodded, leaning against him heavily and since Grantaire always had a hard time saying no to Combeferre in any case, he didn’t protest, only thanked Feuilly and led Combeferre to his car, made sure he was buckled in and took him home.

Getting him up the stairs actually proved easier than Grantaire had expected and Combeferre went willingly when he was pushed down the hall and into Grantaire’s bedroom.

“Okay, let’s get you out of this,” Grantaire mumbled and took off Combeferre’s coat and scarf and his shoes and then stopped because Combeferre definitely wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in his jeans and sweater vest but Grantaire wasn’t really sure if Combeferre would be okay with him taking his clothes off. “Do you want to take this off?” Grantaire asked, tugging at Combeferre’s vest.

Combeferre smirked at him and started unbuttoning it with clumsy fingers before he moved to wiggle out of his jeans and he was lying halfway across Grantaire’s bed in a pair of boxers, a shirt and his socks, his glasses askew.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” Grantaire said, quickly filling up a glass in the kitchen and returning to Combeferre, who hadn’t moved an inch, but was blinking at him sleepily when Grantaire sat down next to him.

“Thank you,” Combeferre mumbled, sitting up with a groan.

Grantaire wordlessly handed him the water, which Combeferre gulped down eagerly. He handed back the empty glass, took off his glasses and then buried his face in the crook of Grantaire’s neck. “Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Combeferre whispered, his breath tickling Grantaire’s skin. “I think I’m going to fall asleep soon, just so you know. I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, just go to sleep,” Grantaire said, a little amused because Combeferre was still so articulate. Usually drunk people just passed out on him and Combeferre even let him know that he may or may not pass out on him sooner or later, because _he was really tired_.

“Are you going to stay and sleep with me?” Combeferre asked, withdrawing a little so he could look at Grantaire. He bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

Grantaire had no idea what Combeferre was apologising for, although he had realised that Combeferre had a tendency to apologise for a lot of things that didn’t require an apology at all. Grantaire just shushed him and eased him down onto his bed, made sure he was tucked in, waited until he was snoring softly, wrote him a quick note to tell him that there was a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and got him some painkillers from the kitchen, just in case, and then went to sleep on his couch.

He knew Combeferre wouldn’t mind sharing the bed, they’d shared a bed before, he’d even asked him to stay, but he was drunk and since Grantaire had never had to deal with a drunk Combeferre before today, he thought it safer to give him some space.

He sent off a quick text to Enjolras, letting him know that Combeferre was fine and would be staying with him, then he wrapped himself in a blanket and fell asleep almost instantly.

In the morning he was woken up by the couch shaking a little and his eyes fluttered open to the sight of Combeferre staring down at him, looking embarrassed. “I am _so_ sorry,” Combeferre whispered.

Grantaire groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not,” Combeferre said. “I should have never put you in this situation.”

“Combeferre, it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like I can’t be around drunk people,” Grantaire said, trying to smile at him despite the early hour. “Why are you awake yet?”

“I feel like an idiot and I had to apologise,” Combeferre said, shivering a little. “Thank you, though.”

“Sure thing,” Grantaire said and took him by the hand to pull him down onto the sofa. “Now go back to sleep.”

Combeferre huffed out a laugh and they somehow managed not to fall off the sofa, wiggling around until Combeferre was lying on his back and Grantaire had his head pillowed on his chest and their legs were tangled together.

He didn’t wake up again until a couple of hours later. He was alone again, but he could hear Combeferre rummaging around in his kitchen and he could smell coffee. For a second, he stayed where he was, took a deep breath and smiled.

Grantaire untangled himself from his blanket, then he padded across the hall into the kitchen and found Combeferre flipping pancakes. “You’re the greatest,” Grantaire mumbled and went to give Combeferre a hug from behind, burying his face between his shoulder blades for a couple of seconds and then went to pour himself some coffee.  

“Thanks again for last night,” Combeferre said and flipped another pancake. “Did Courfeyrac call you?”

“He did,” Grantaire confirmed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright. I didn’t have that much to drink, I was just tired. To be honest, I’m still tired.”

“Well, we can always go back to bed.”

“What?” Combeferre asked, sounding amused.

Grantaire briefly wanted to kick himself in the face. “I, um, I just… you know, if you’re tired, maybe you should take a nap.”

“Here?”

“Anywhere you want.” Grantaire took a step back to get some plates, well aware that Combeferre was watching him. “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed,” he added after a while.

“I wasn’t sure if you still wanted me to,” Combeferre muttered. He sighed. “I really am-”

“Sorry,” Grantaire finished for him. “I know. It’s okay, ‘Ferre. I’m okay with other people drinking. At least most of the time. Some days it isn’t as bearable as on others, but I can handle it. And if I couldn’t, I wouldn’t have agreed to pick you up.”

Maybe he was exaggerating a little, maybe he wasn’t really that good at telling when he could and couldn’t handle it, but he’d definitely got much better at it. Sure, the itch was always there, the option of just giving in was always somewhere at the back of his mind, but he’d learned to ignore it as best as he could.

“Still,” Combeferre said, shaking his head.

“Do me a favour,” Grantaire said and stood on his tiptoes so he could give Combeferre a kiss on the cheek. “Stop beating yourself up about this, okay?”

Combeferre smiled. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Grantaire said. He went to resume his previous position and hugged Combeferre until he’d run out of pancake batter.

They had breakfast and afterwards Grantaire neglected the dishes in favour of taking a nap with Combeferre. It was surprisingly easy to talk him into staying and it was surprisingly easy to just slip under the covers with him and snuggle against him.

Combeferre went back home eventually, saying he should probably check on Enjolras, but invited him over for dinner later on.

The following week, Combeferre spent most of his time at the hospital, but showed up at Grantaire’s every now and then to bring him food or to watch another episode of Breaking Bad or to just fall asleep on his sofa with his head pillowed in Grantaire’s lap. Grantaire really wasn’t complaining.

One Friday evening Grantaire was just showing his last student of the day out, waved at the kids’ mother who was waiting in her car and nearly bumped into Combeferre on his way back inside.

“Please tell me you haven’t had dinner yet,” Combeferre said as way of greeting, holding up two bags full of groceries. “I thought we could make lasagna.”

“I was working until just now,” Grantaire said and took one of the bags from Combeferre. “This is a nice surprise.”

“I probably should have called first,” Combeferre mumbled as Grantaire gently pushed him inside, “but this was a bit of a spur of the moment thing, I hope this is okay. Because you can definitely tell me to go home if you have something better to do.”

Grantaire bit back a comment about definitely not having anything better than him to do, but wasn’t sure if that was appropriate just yet.

They made dinner together, mostly in silence, and Combeferre snuck a kiss on his cheek every now and again. They made a complete mess of his kitchen, but eventually managed to push their lasagna into the oven.

“You know what, you really should have told me you were coming,” Grantaire said and wrapped his arms around Combeferre, slowly pushing him back against the counter and giving him a chaste kiss. “I would have made dessert if I’d known,” he added before Combeferre could even think about apologising.

Combeferre hummed and kissed him back, his hands slowly wandering down his back and to his ass, pulling him flush against him. Grantaire ended up on his tiptoes and with his fingers knotted in Combeferre’s hair.

“Maybe dessert is overrated,” Grantaire muttered in between kisses, smiling against Combeferre’s lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please note that this fic has a rating now. If you don't want to read the smut, just don't read the second half of the chapter.)

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” Combeferre said as soon as he got into the car. They were running late because Combeferre had been held up at the hospital, but it wasn’t like they were in such a hurry that they didn’t have time for saying hello anymore.

“Hello to you, too,” Grantaire said, grinning at him. “Where’s Enjolras?”

“He went to Courfeyrac’s early. Apparently they thought that baking a cake for everyone would be a good idea.” Combeferre was actually sounding a little impatient, so Grantaire decided to skip the obligatory question about his day at the hospital.

“What did you want to ask me?” he asked instead.

“Have you told anyone about us?” Combeferre asked lowly. “I mean, everyone’s going to be at Courfeyrac’s tonight and I was just wondering if we should tell them. Because we haven’t. At least not officially.”

Grantaire bit his lip. “I’m pretty sure that they already know. Enjolras knows. And I guess Courfeyrac knows. Joly and Bossuet know, too. And I’m pretty sure that Feuilly saw us kissing outside the Musain the other day. So maybe we don’t even really have to tell them.”

Most of their friends were annoyingly perceptive, so it was pretty damn hard to keep secrets from them. News travelled fast in their circle of friends.

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Right, that’s a good point.” He fell silent, fiddling with a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it that Grantaire had probably forgotten in his car at some point.

Grantaire wasn’t sure, but it almost seemed to him that Combeferre was nervous about something, which really was unusual for him. “’Ferre?”

“Well,” Combeferre said and took a deep breath, “what if they ask?”

Grantaire frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If they ask if we’re together, do we tell them that we’re…” Combeferre dropped the paper and cleared his throat, fingers tapping against his thighs. “Do we tell them that we’re dating? Or that we’re a couple?”

“Ah,” Grantaire breathed. He understood now. They were definitely dating, but they’d never really had the boyfriend talk. He couldn’t remember ever having the boyfriend talk with anyone, but Combeferre was rather fond of proper communication, so Grantaire really should have seen this coming.

“Yes,” Combeferre said, nodding slowly. “Because I don’t want to tell them that we are a couple if you’re not comfortable with that.”

“I see. But if I told you that I’d be okay with that…”

“Then that’s what we could tell them,” Combeferre finished.

“Okay,” Grantaire said, “let’s tell them that, then.”

Combeferre smiled at him, nodded and then proceeded to sit perfectly still for the rest of the drive, humming along to the radio.

Grantaire managed to find a good spot to park his car at least somewhat close to Courfeyrac’s place and they walked over to his building and up the stairs hand in hand. Grantaire didn’t even think about letting go when Combeferre rang the doorbell.

They were greeted by loud voices and laughter when Bahorel opened the door for them and pulled them both into a hug. “Look who finally made it.”

“We’re not even that late,” Grantaire grumbled and elbowed Bahorel in the ribs as he walked past him into Courfeyrac’s flat, where everyone had gathered in the living room around a table full of food, watching a movie.

“’Ferre, we saved you the armchair,” Courfeyrac said. He was sitting in the other armchair, Jehan in his lap, both their eyes fixed on the TV, where _Indiana Jones_ was playing.

“Thank you,” Combeferre said lowly, sat down and tugged Grantaire down with him.

“I’m going to squish you,” Grantaire protested quietly, but didn’t resist too much in the end and let Combeferre pull him onto his lap.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” Combeferre mumbled, shifted a little and tucked Grantaire against his chest.

It wasn’t like Grantaire was a huge fan of public displays of affection, he hated it when people shoved their happiness in everyone’s faces, but there was nothing wrong with a little cuddling – or so he told himself. Anyway, it was dark in the room, no one saw him nuzzle at Combeferre’s neck, no one saw the little kisses that Combeferre kept pressing to his forehead, no one saw that they were holding hands.

When the movie ended, Marius switched on the lights and Grantaire tried to ignore that pretty much everyone in the room was looking at him and Combeferre all of a sudden.

Grantaire cleared his throat noisily. He looked around the room, trying to find some kind of distraction, and spotted the chocolate cake that Enjolras and Courfeyrac had made on the table. “Um, can I have some cake?”

“You still haven’t thrown away the cake?” Musichetta piped up. “Seriously, someone’s gonna get food poisoning.”

“But it looks so nice,” Courfeyrac said, eyeing the cake with a sad expression.

“What’s wrong with the cake?” Combeferre asked.

“Something went wrong,” Courfeyrac said loudly, sticking out his bottom lip and turning to mock-glare at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes at him.

“It’s definitely not my fault,” Enjolras grumbled and hugged a pillow to his chest. “Maybe you mixed it wrong.”

“Maybe you-”

“Guys,” Cosette interrupted and stood up slowly, “I’m just going to take the cake and put it away, okay?”

“Here, have a muffin,” Joly said and handed one to each of them. “’Chetta made them.”

Everyone fell silent again as Jehan put in the next DVD. Cosette returned, stopping next to their chair with a grin. “So, since when have you guys been together?”

There was a loud cough, then Marius asked, “Wait, Combeferre and Grantaire are together?”, which was followed by a collective groan. It seemed that they had really been rather obvious about it – at least around everyone but Marius.

* * *

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire only managed to hum in reply. He usually wasn’t one to sleep in, not anymore, but it was Sunday morning and he didn’t have anywhere to go and as far as he could tell it was still raining, so he definitely wouldn’t set foot outside all day.

Right before they’d left Courfeyrac’s it had started raining and when they’d reached Grantaire’s car they’d both been soaked to the bone.  They’d ended up at Grantaire’s flat, completely drenched, laughing as they’d stumbled out of their clothes. Combeferre had made hot chocolate, wearing nothing but his underwear and Grantaire had watched him, leaning in the doorway, trying to somehow keep the ridiculously big grin off his face.

“Are you awake?” Combeferre asked, and Grantaire could hear the smile in his voice.

Grantaire hummed again and rolled onto his back, his eyes still closed, blindly reaching for Combeferre, trailing his fingers up his chest and along a collarbone. “Sort of awake, yeah,” he mumbled and pried an eye open.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Combeferre asked, turning over and inching a little closer. Grantaire was pretty sure he only did that, because Combeferre couldn’t see him very well without his glasses.

“You’re making me breakfast _again_?” Grantaire asked, hooking a leg around Combeferre’s. “I feel like it should be my turn for once. I mean, this is my flat after all, you’re my guest, which means I should be making breakfast for you.”

Combeferre laughed. “Well, I feel like I should say thank you for letting me stay here.”

“I think you should say thank you by not moving for a bit,” Grantaire muttered and slung an arm around Combeferre’s waist.

Combeferre laughed. “How much do we care about morning breath?” he asked, nuzzling into his hair.

“If you don’t care, I don’t care,” Grantaire mumbled. He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to Combeferre’s stubbly jaw, briefly wondering what that stubble would feel like on the skin of his thighs.

He sighed and planted a kiss on Combeferre’s lips, pressing closer until they were flush against each other. Combeferre was an excellent kisser, he somehow managed to make Grantaire forget about everything else, knew where to put his hands, knew exactly what Grantaire liked. He knew a little too well, in Grantaire’s opinion, but that was mostly a great problem to have.

Only when their kisses grew a little too heated, Grantaire found it rather hard to pull away, although he knew he had to because they’d kept postponing this conversation, much like the boyfriend talk, so he wasn’t quite sure if it would be okay with Combeferre to just continue.

He inched away, smiling at Combeferre. “Breakfast? Or do you want me to stay a little longer?”

“Since we’re obviously still not in agreement over who gets to make breakfast, I think you should stay a little longer,” Combeferre said, pulling Grantaire on top of him in one swift motion.

Grantaire bent down to kiss him again, his hips rocking against Combeferre’s on their own accord. He thought about apologising for a second, but Combeferre reached up to bury his fingers in Grantaire’s hair, distracting him effectively.

Grantaire slowly moved down Combeferre’s chest, sucking and biting until Combeferre was moaning, and stilled when he reached the hem of his boxer briefs. He nosed along the outline of Combeferre’s dick, then he resurfaced, kicking the duvet out of the way.

“’Ferre,” he mumbled, grinding his hips down, again and again until a beautiful flush was spreading down Combeferre’s chest and he was writhing underneath him, bucking his hips for friction. Grantaire’s thoughts still lingered on how Combeferre’s stubble would feel on his skin, but that would have to wait. “’Ferre,” Grantaire said again, swallowing hard, “I want to ride you.”

Combeferre let out a low whine, but quickly caught himself and sat up as best as he could with Grantaire still straddling his hips. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely one hundred percent sure,” Grantaire whispered, slowly trailing his fingers up Combeferre’s sides, tracing the lines of his tattoos and leaning closer again, resting his forehead against Combeferre’s.

They remained still for a moment until Grantaire was starting to grow restless, gave Combeferre a quick kiss and leaned across the bed to get the lube and a condom out of his nightstand. “Do you want to… or should I… I mean, I can…”

Combeferre shook his head ever so slightly, gripped him by the hips and flipped them around, kissing him thoroughly before he tugged off both their boxers and reached for the lube. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, okay?” Combeferre muttered.

There was no doubt that Combeferre knew what he was doing, _shit_ , Combeferre was going to be a doctor, of course he knew what he was doing.

Combeferre curled his fingers, pressed a kiss to the inside of Grantaire’s thigh, which had Grantaire cursing and moaning and scrabbling at the sheets. “Again,” he whispered, “please, again.”

Combeferre smirked and curled his fingers one more time.

Grantaire groaned. “Yeah, that too.”

“What?” Combeferre asked, brow creased.

Grantaire was pretty sure that he was blushing furiously. “I just… your stubble… it felt nice.”

Combeferre, smirking again, nuzzled at Grantaire’s thigh one more time, his stubble scratching over his skin, and Grantaire let out a drawn-out whine. “Holy _fuck_ … I’m ready, Combeferre, I’m ready.”

“Patience,” Combeferre said and added another finger, “I just want to make sure that I won’t hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Grantaire insisted. He stayed still for as long as he could, then he wrestled Combeferre back onto the mattress, took care of the condom for him, and slowly sank down onto his dick. Another stream of curses escaped him and he remained very still for a while, just getting used to the feeling of Combeferre inside of him.

When he started moving, Combeferre’s hands came up to steady him and Grantaire was starting to pick up the pace, enjoying the low moans that fell from Combeferre’s lips, until his thighs were starting to ache and he had to slow down again. Combeferre curled his fingers around Grantaire’s cock, stroking him until he came. “Let’s switch positions, okay?” Combeferre asked, his fingers wandering up Grantaire’s thighs.

Grantaire, still breathing heavily, nodded, not really trusting his voice right now, and Combeferre rolled them over, keeping his thrusts gentle, and came with a low moan that Grantaire swallowed with a kiss.

“I think breakfast has to wait, I can’t move just yet,” Grantaire mumbled after a while, half-heartedly trying to mop up the come splatters on his and Combeferre’s stomachs.

“Are you okay?” Combeferre asked, turning his head to look at him.

“I’m fine,” Grantaire mumbled, “just a little jittery, I think. ‘s been a while.”

“Take a nap.” Combeferre kissed his forehead. “I’ll take care of breakfast.”

“There’s eggs and bacon in the fridge.” Grantaire rolled over and wrapped an arm and a leg around Combeferre. “But they’re going to stay there for a little longer, because I’m still not letting you leave.”

Combeferre huffed out a laugh but complied and didn’t move an inch. Grantaire dozed off a bit later and was woken up again by the smell of eggs and bacon and coffee. They had breakfast in bed and stayed right there for the rest of the morning, trading lazy kisses.

“When was the last time you stayed in bed all day?” Grantaire asked between kisses.

“I honestly can’t remember,” Combeferre muttered and grabbed for the duvet, wrapping it around the both of them. “But I am certainly not opposed to staying in bed all day if that’s what you’re asking.”


	10. Chapter 10

Grantaire stared at Jehan’s name next to the doorbell, wondering if he should ring. Jehan had no idea he was here, mainly because Grantaire hadn’t known he’d end up here either.

He’d gone to an AA meeting, just to please his sponsor, and afterwards he’d felt worse than before. To distract himself he’d wandered around the city for a while, and Jehan’s flat had just so happened to be on his way.

An old lady came out of the house, eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t otherwise say anything to him. He sighed and rang the doorbell before anyone else saw him and called the police on him because he looked like he was about to break into someone’s flat. Jehan buzzed him in immediately and greeted Grantaire with a hug once he’d climbed up the stairs.

“Come in,” Jehan said, tugging Grantaire into his flat with a bright smile. “I have some Thai food left if you’re hungry.”

“No, thank you,” Grantaire mumbled, looking around Jehan’s little living room that was now full of boxes. He frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m moving in with Courfeyrac,” Jehan said and pushed Grantaire over to the sofa. “We were going to tell you all on Friday when we meet at the Musain, so you’ll have to keep it a secret until then. And I’d totally offer you a cup of tea, but it’s all packed up already.”

“No problem,” Grantaire said, looking around the once so colourfully decorated room. It seemed that the only things that Jehan had left to pack were his books. His plants, once scattered around the whole flat, were now standing in one corner, ready to be taken to Courfeyrac’s. “I’m happy for you guys,” he added quietly.

Jehan smiled. “Courfeyrac kept saying I should just move in with him because it would make things so much easier, but I never thought he was serious,” he mumbled, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. “When I moved in here this place was a shithole, I mean, it still is, but it’s my shithole, you know? I didn’t think it’d be so hard to leave. But Courf is right, it’ll make things easier. I spent so much time at his place, I was barely here anyway.”

“I’m going to miss coming here,” Grantaire said, looking around one more time, taking in the half-empty shelves, the empty windowsills, the bleak walls.

“Yeah, speaking of that,” Jehan said, and poked him with his foot, “is there any reason you came over? Or did you just want to catch up?”

Grantaire shrugged. He hadn’t really paid much attention to where he was going, he’d been distracted and had just somehow ended up here.

“Because if there’s something wrong, you can tell me,” Jehan continued. “Things are going well between you and Combeferre, right?”

“Yeah, everything’s okay with Combeferre,” Grantaire said, smiling at the thought of his boyfriend. “He’s my boyfriend,” he added, trying his hardest not to start giggling. “Combeferre is my boyfriend.”

Jehan, in turn, did giggle. “He’s a good boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“He’s great,” Grantaire said. “He comes by to bring me food. And he likes cuddling and he watches Breaking Bad with me and always lets me pick what to order for dinner.”

Jehan sighed happily and came crawling over to pull him into a hug. “You guys are so adorable.”

“Look who’s talking. You and Courfeyrac are probably the most disgustingly sweet couple on the planet,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes, even though Jehan couldn’t see because he was still hugging him.

Jehan squeezed him tightly. “He’s great in bed, too, isn’t he?”

Grantaire, used to how quickly Jehan tended to change topics and knowing this really was a harmless question by his standards, didn’t even bat an eye. “Maybe,” he said, grinning smugly.

Jehan pulled away, nodding slowly, grinning as well. “That’s what I thought.”

“He’s basically the perfect boyfriend,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “I don’t even know how I got so lucky.”

“Oh, come on, you deserve it. You deserve to be happy and have a perfect boyfriend who makes great lasagne and is also fantastic in bed.”

Grantaire bit his lip, because he felt like they were rapidly approaching a point where he may or may not start to cry.

“Really,” Jehan said and ruffled his hair. “You make him so happy, I know you do.”

Grantaire rubbed at his eyes, knowing that not starting to cry really wasn’t an option anymore, and was back in Jehan’s arm within seconds.

“I’m sorry, Grantaire,” Jehan whispered, gently stroking his hair, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… I went to a meeting earlier, you know, an AA meeting, and it was just people talking about how their wives and husbands left them because they fucked up so bad and all I could think about was that the same thing might happen to me one day.”

“But you’re not going to fuck up,” Jehan murmured, “and even if you do, do you think Combeferre would just leave you?”

“He should,” Grantaire muttered.

“Grantaire, listen to me,” Jehan said, “you’ve made it this far. And I know you’re only human, but I’m going to tell you that everything’s going to be fine and you are going to believe me, okay?”

“Okay,” Grantaire whispered, knowing that Jehan wouldn’t let go until he did.

“That’s the spirit,” Jehan said, hugging him even tighter, holding him there for a long while until Grantaire had stopped sniffling, then he spoke up again. “I’m supposed to meet Courfeyrac and Enjolras at the Musain in a bit, do you want to come? I bet Combeferre will be there, too. But if you don’t feel like going, I’m going to call them and tell them that I can’t make it and we’ll sit here and I’ll hug you and maybe I’ll dig out the tea after all.”

“No, it’s alright, I’m just gonna go home and order pizza,” Grantaire said. He spent another fifteen minutes convincing Jehan that he’d be fine on his own for the rest of the evening, then he finally let him go.

Once he was at home, though, he felt that he probably wouldn’t be fine at all. He should have stayed at Jehan’s or maybe he should have gone to the Musain with him. He felt restless, but at the same time he didn’t feel like doing anything at all. After he grew bored with pacing around his flat, he pulled on his coat and started walking toward the Musain.

He stopped outside and peered in through the window. It didn’t seem to be a particularly busy night and he could easily spot Combeferre, Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Jehan at their usual table, all four of them laughing. Grantaire hovered outside for a bit, unsure whether or not to go in and join them. He looked up and down the nearly empty street, entertaining the idea of just going back home, because coming here had been such a great idea after all, but his train of thought was interrupted when the door behind him opened.

Grantaire turned around and found Combeferre walking over to him.

“I thought you were busy tonight,” Combeferre said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Are you going to come inside?”

“I thought I would, but I think I’ll just go back home,” Grantaire said, somehow managing to smile. “But,” he added and pulled Combeferre down by the lapel of his coat, “I think I’m going to steal another kiss first.”

“Did something happen?” Combeferre whispered against his lips.

“I just had a bit of an unpleasant experience at an AA meeting earlier and now I’m in a bad mood. It’s nothing to worry about, I just don’t really know what to do with myself right now,” Grantaire said and kissed the tip of Combeferre’s nose. He didn’t mention that he’d sat in Jehan’s living room crying less than two hours ago.

It was terribly hard to distinguish between a bad day and a bad mood, but right now he was pretty sure that he was just grumpy and upset and that it wasn’t anything that a huge piece of chocolate cake wouldn’t fix. It was just that it was getting late and a huge piece of chocolate cake would soon be rather hard to come by.

Combeferre frowned. “Do you want to be alone?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna come inside,” Grantaire mumbled and hid his face in Combeferre’s coat.

“That’s not what I asked,” Combeferre said, slowly running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair. “Would you rather be on your own?”

“No, that’s not it… I think I just want to go home and get my fuzziest blanket and eat a lot of unhealthy food. Sorry.” He sighed. “I’m glad I saw you, though.”

“Could you wait one minute?” Combeferre asked.

Grantaire nodded. “Sure, why?”

“Feuilly and Bahorel probably won’t need me to bartend anyway, so I’m going to take you home and wrap you in a blanket, but I should probably say goodbye to everyone first.”

“You really don’t have to,” Grantaire said, but Combeferre was already marching back inside, smiling at him one more time before the door fell shut behind him.

Grantaire watched as Combeferre talked to their friends, then waved at Jehan, who’d turned around and seen him standing outside, and after a minute or two Combeferre returned to him, wordlessly took his hand and led him back to his flat.

Combeferre made sure Grantaire was all tucked in and had a bag of crisps, chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate within an arm’s length of him before he sat down next to him on his bed. “Is there anything else you want me to get you?”

“No, I think you should stay right here,” Grantaire said.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said lowly as he reached for a chocolate cookie. “Do you want to tell me what happened? I mean, you said that you’re only in a mad mood, but I thought maybe you wanted to talk about it?”

Grantaire only shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

Combeferre hummed thoughtfully. “You know, Jehan said that you might want to take up knitting.”

“Knitting?” Grantaire echoed.

“He thought it might help.”

Grantaire frowned. “Were you guys talking about me?”

“Jehan only told me that he ran into you before he came to the Musain and that you weren’t feeling so well. I was going to call you later, but then you showed up.” He paused, took off his glasses and carefully placed them on the nightstand. Then he slid down a little so he could pillow his head on Grantaire’s chest. “Look,” he continued, “I don’t know whether you just happened to bump into Jehan or if you went to his place to talk to him, whatever it was, it’s perfectly fine with me, you can talk to whoever you want.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming,” Grantaire said, not sure what exactly Combeferre was getting at.

Combeferre looked up and rolled on top of him, effectively pinning him to the bed, making sure Grantaire was looking at him. “I just want you to know that you can always come to me,” Combeferre said. “I want you to come to me. It won’t bother me, you will never bother me, I promise.”

“I just always feel like…” He closed his eyes because he couldn’t possibly look at Combeferre for any longer. “I don’t know, I need you so much and you…” He didn’t want to say that Combeferre didn’t need him at all, but it often seemed to him that exactly that was the case.

“I need you, too. I might need you in different ways, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need you at all, Grantaire.”

Grantaire could feel Combeferre shift off of him, but his hand remained on his chest, warm and steady. He opened his eyes again and found Combeferre staring at him intently, looking more concerned than ever.

“Look,” Combeferre said, “I don’t deal with bad days the way you do, I don’t like to show that I’m in a bad mood. But the next time I have a bad day I’ll come to you, I promise.”

“I bet you’re still unbelievably pleasant even when you have a bad day,” Grantaire grumbled. “And I’m an ass and I really don’t understand why you put up with me.”

Combeferre reached out to pull Grantaire a little closer. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here,” he mumbled into Grantaire’s hair. “I’m in love with you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire looked up, not even caring that there was a huge grin on his face. “You’re in love with me?”

Combeferre smiled back at him. “I am.”

Grantaire gave him a kiss as way of answering. Combeferre would understand.


End file.
